


Damn Yankees

by undersail2013



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Asexual Character, Baseball, Gay Character, M/M, Oh No He's Hot, POV Alternating, Pansexual Character, Theatre, oblivious david rose, past patrick/rachel, pining patrick brewer, questioning patrick brewer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 18:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersail2013/pseuds/undersail2013
Summary: Prompt from user @foggynelson : "A silly fic of David and Patrick meeting once while in high school and Patrick pining over David but not being able to do anything about it."  Admittedly, the silliest part of this fic is Patrick's hair.





	Damn Yankees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foggynelson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynelson/gifts).



> Loosely based on my experiences amongst the queer and/or theatre kids in high school in the '90s, but with a Canadian twist.

As captain of the Muskoka Oaks Secondary School’s baseball team, Patrick Brewer already knew that the theatre department had rummaged through the varsity uniforms for this production of  _ Damn Yankees _ . He had, in fact, shared a laugh with the guys that the theatre kids were changing the team from the Washington Senators to the Toronto Blue Jays but keeping the play set in the 1950s.  Ridiculous- everyone knows Toronto didn’t get a team until 1977!  The director’s note in the program justified the change on account of patriotism, as well as the fact that the Muskoxen uniforms were almost identical to the Blue Jays’ home jerseys.   _ Swap the curlicue “Muskoka Oaks” for a block-script “Blue Jays,” and our boys wouldn’t look out of place at the SkyDome,  _ Patrick thought _.   _

He lamented that some of the actors on stage looked sloppy, their baggy pants hanging over their shoes.  Had he been responsible for wardrobe, he’d have made damn sure that all of the players, er, actors, kept the hems tucked into the socks.  But then, he had no luck convincing his teammates to dress the part.  The worst offender, Gregg, could barely get around the bases, his pants were so long. Number 45 on stage had the same problem, it seemed. Patrick wondered if his own uniform was being worn in this production.  He wasn’t paying close attention to the action in front of him, and he tuned in just as the character wearing his number, lucky number 13, stepped into a spotlight.

Patrick gasped. He felt his cheeks flush and he had to put his program in his lap for a moment.  The actor wearing his uniform was none other than David Rose.

He didn’t **_know_** know David Rose, but everyone knew who he was. His parents owned a video store, his mom was a C-list celebrity, his sister was an aspiring singer.  And David himself was gay. Like, that was his claim to fame.  In every high school, there will be a few kids who are plagued by rumours about their sexuality, whether out of idle chatter or cruelty, but there was always that one kid who everyone knew was gay, that everyone - even teachers - referred to as “the gay kid.”  At Muskoka Oaks, class of 2001, that kid was David Rose.

Patrick was mortified to discover that David Rose looked hot in a baseball uniform.  _ His _ baseball uniform.

If he hadn’t been crammed into the auditorium with every other student at this godforsaken mandatory assembly, he would have made a beeline for the men’s room, where he could splash cold water on his face until this feeling passed. As it was, he was trapped a third of the way down the row.  _ Breathe _ ,  _ Patrick _ .

He must have said it aloud, because his buddy Mutt leaned over. “Did you say something?”

“Nah. Sorry.”  He tried to look lost in the play, only to discover that his eyes were following David.  He exhaled loudly, too loudly, had to disguise it as a cough.

It really wasn’t fair.  The one guy who might be able to appreciate what Patrick was feeling… He stopped.  It wasn’t David’s job to satisfy the curiosity of straight guys like him.  And _Patrick was_ _straight_. Mostly. Occam’s razor: the simplest answer was probably correct, right?  Patrick liked girls, had only dated girls; ergo, Patrick was straight. Yes.

Yeah.  No.  Not really.

It was always something of a relief when Rachel dumped him before the season started.  That was his guy-time.

This train of thought was getting more and more awkward, considering two of his oldest and best friends flanked him in this crowded auditorium.

But he always went back to Rachel.

BUT.  He always went back to RACHEL. Rachel, who eschewed sex.  Rachel, who had, on more than one occasion, joked that the two of them were the queerest couple in school. Rachel, who not-so-secretly fantasized about buying a big, beautiful house with all their childhood friends and living in a big, beautiful platonic commune.

The phrase “beard” floated through his brain.  He shook his head.

The lights had come up.  The musical was over that fast?  Patrick let Mutt and his girlfriend shuffle past him before standing and joining the crowd of students making their way back to class.  He let the crowd separate him from his classmates.  He let the stream of humanity buffet him as he made his desultory way to the washrooms.  Once there, he wet a paper towel and blotted his face with it. 

The crowd thinned. A bell rang. He wadded up the towel and threw it at the trashcan.  _ Two points _ , he murmured absentmindedly.  He blew out a long breath and returned to AP English.  

Patrick did his best to shake off the morning’s distraction.  By lunch, he was feeling more energized.  He and Mutt and the gang walked to Tim’s for coffee.  They barely arrived back at school before the bell, so he really shouldn’t have taken the time to check out the bulletin board in the lobby. There was a new poster, hung there during the lunch hour.

**~ CASTING CALL! ~**

**~ Theatre Senior Projects ~**

**~ We need ACTORS and TECH, no experience needed ~**

**~ Directors will hold auditions in the AUDITORIUM at the following times: ~**

**~ Twyla Sands, Positive Vibrations Come Back to You, a series of affirming monologues: Wednesday 3:30-4:30 ~**

**~ Stevie Budd, How Black Is My Soul (one-act): Wednesday 4:30-6:00 ~**

**~ David Rose, Friend of Dorothy (two acts with intermission and musical interlude): Thursday 3:30-6:00 ~**

**~ Ted Mullens, Kegger (one-act): Friday 3:30-5:00 ~**

**~ Please be prompt- you will be given pages to read from when you sign in. ~**

Auditioning for David Rose’s play could be social suicide even if it was not a paean to being gay.  Which it clearly was.  Patrick should have hesitated at least, considered his teammates’ reactions, maybe even discussed with Rachel when they got back together (before this morning threw him a change-up, Patrick had had a solid plan in place for winning her back by asking her to the end-of-year baseball banquet this coming Thursday.)  Instead, he pulled his Blackberry from his backpack and typed a message to Coach, informing him that he would not be available for the banquet after all. 

*******

David barely slept Wednesday night in anticipation of auditions.  He skipped third period so he could refine the denouement of  _ Friend of Dorothy _ , and then decided he liked it better before editing.  He drank two Diet Cokes for lunch; when the final bell rang, he grabbed a box of Smarties from the vending machine and dashed to the auditorium.  

A small crowd had already formed around the registration table.   _ Shit _ .  

David swung his messenger bag down officiously and shut everyone out while he arranged his papers.  He had photocopied a number of monologues typifying his characters and laminated them down at Dad’s store.  He was too paranoid to allow anyone to see his actual text.  That, and it was still not perfect- he handed in his “final draft” last week, but he had made a few dozen changes since then.  Only 24 hours before he had to give his actors their lines. Plenty of time. 

Looking up, he saw that the crowd had grown.  Mostly theatre people.  He recognized one or two semi-closeted kids and smiled.  He hoped the play could help them be more truly themselves.  After all, they were the ones he had written this for.  Not those people specifically, but all the queer kids who needed a little push towards living authentically.  There were also a couple of heteros milling about.  Hopefully, they were serious about acting and not here to cause trouble.  He checked his watch: 3:30 on the dot.   _ Showtime _ .

“Hi, hello everyone.  Hi, um.” He cleared his throat. “Hello?”  Just then, a piercing whistle startled him and everyone else into silence.  David glared at the jock-type who had made the noise.  The frosted tips marked him as a baseball player.  Apparently they had won their season finale and so they all bleached their hair?  The straights were weird.  “Thank you, I guess?” he muttered.  More loudly, “Hello, everyone.  Thank you for coming.  We have a lot to get to, but let me take a moment to explain what we’re doing today.  For those of you who don’t know me, my name is David Rose.  I’m from Toronto, I’m a Cancer, and I am pansexual.  And I wrote this play that you are all about to audition for.  Unless you are here for Ted’s play; in which case, you should come back on Friday.”  No one moved, so he continued.  “I’ll need each of you to take a card and write down your name, your homeroom teacher, and the character-types you are interested in auditioning for.”  David noticed that Frosted-Tips quietly started handing out cards and pens from the table.  Completely unprompted, but oddly considerate.  “You’ll be given a monologue to read, geared towards one of the characters in my play.  For my convenience, I have labeled the monologues by character sexuality rather than character name; sorry if that offends.  On your cards, please list two of these character-types, in order of preference.”  He read from a laminated piece of paper, “Asexual, Bisexual, Gay, Lesbian, Straight, Transgender, Two-Spirit.” He waved the card over his head, and it wobbled audibly.  “This will be here if you need to reference the list.”  He clapped his hands together once.  “So.  Let’s get started!  If you would be so kind as to form a line here,” gesturing in flight-attendant fashion, “as you finish filling out your cards, and we’ll get you all registered just as quickly as possible.  Auditions will start right at 4:15.”

David sat and flipped his notebook to the audition registration page.  It was just a sheet of loose-leaf paper, but he had spent an unreasonable amount of time tracing precise lines for each column and row.  The first column was numbered for Audition Slot, first come, first served.  And for tracking purposes, each card would receive the same number.  Then came Name, Monologue, and a short rubric comprised of Yes, No, and Maybe.  Finally, he left a field for notes. 

He processed a few classmates, then the maybe-lesbian who sat near him in French, but the queue was not getting any shorter.  He tried to write faster, speak more quickly.  He was struggling by the time Frosted-Tips appeared before him.  He held his hand out for the card and began scribbling.

“Good turnout,” Frosted-Tips remarked.  Patrick, according to the card.

“Yup.”  David was somewhat annoyed.  He didn’t really have time for pleasantries.  “Wait.”  He scrutinised the card, then glanced up at the person in front of him.  “Okay, a couple of things.  One, I’m guessing you’re not actually indigenous?”

Patrick looked confused.  “No.  Why?”

David smiled, a little condescendingly.  “See, you put down ‘Two-Spirit,’ but I can’t have a white person reading for that role, as it is a term unique to First Nations people.”

“OH!  No, sorry, I didn’t know.  Of course.  I thought it meant, like, bisexual.”

David’s grin softened. “It’s okay, I get the idea you’re maybe a little new to all this,” he replied, waving his hands.  “Anyways, I was going to give that part to a friend of mine, because he was instrumental in helping me write the character to begin with, but just…” He put his finger to his lips, miming a shushing sound.    

Patrick nodded.  He took his card and a laminated sheet from David.

“I have a lot of people reading for Bisexual already, though, but you read very straight, so…” He gestured at the monologue.  At the top of the page, in big block letters, was the word STRAIGHT.  “You are audition slot 7.  Be in the auditorium when your number is called or forfeit your time.  Now, if you could just stand there and let me take a quick Polaroid.”  The camera clicked and spat out a blank rectangle.  “You’ll hand me this and the card before you read.  Any other questions?  Nope? Great.  Next?”

“Hang on a minute.”  Patrick leaned in and lowered his voice. “Look, you see the redhead behind me in line, like three spots back?  I don’t know what she has on her card, but I think you might want to have her read for Asexual.  I … I think she might be perfect.”

David squinted at him.  “Why would I-”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed.  “We dated, and I think the reason it never worked is because maybe she has some things to work out.  I think I do, too,” he added more seriously.

David waited for him to say something more, but apparently Patrick was having himself a little moment.  David cleared his throat.  “I actually am quite busy, so if there isn’t anything else?”

“Oh, right, of course.  You know, if you need a spare pair of hands, maybe I could help out?  Maybe I could...” He looked down at the table like he was deciding.  “I could take people’s pictures for you?”

David considered the offer.  “Yeah, okay, stand here and you can take their picture while I’m writing.”

Even with Patrick’s assistance, they barely made it through registration before 4:15.  Patrick, the eager little thing, offered to run to the vending machines and grab him a pop.  David felt a bit suspicious of his intentions, like he was being set-up for some weird sports-guy prank, but he relented.  “See if they have any ketchup chips, too.”  When he returned with the snacks, he handed them over without engaging further, then settled in the next row down.  David was somewhat relieved. 

Auditions went smoothly.  Most of the actors were decent.  A few outstanding performances.  Nothing so terrible that it couldn’t be tweaked by a decent director.  David had only given one No, and that was a no-show.  He had approximately 14 hours before he needed to post the cast list, and he still needed a stage manager.  The people with the experience to stage-manage had auditioned really well, and he couldn’t not cast them.  He wondered about the guy with the frosted tips.  Helpful, bit of a boy scout, good enough to play the role he auditioned for, but so was Jocelyn.  And if memory served, the guy was the captain of the baseball team, which could imply something of leadership qualities.  Plus, he was super organized.  He had spent the full two and a half hours in the auditorium with his planner out, completing homework and checking off tasks.  And what kind of high school student has a personal digital assistant?  He was either a drug dealer or a high-powered executive, and either way, David felt that that qualified him to keep the props in order, watch the time, and tell people to shut up backstage, which was pretty much all David needed from a stage manager for this play.  

When the cast list went up, Patrick had the role of right-hand man.

*******

When the cast list went up, Patrick didn’t even get a speaking part.  He was crew, Stage Manager.  He wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed, but he guessed he would be backstage, without much face time with the director.  What a waste.  He should have gone to the banquet.  He should have patched things up with Rachel.  He was being ridiculous, chasing after some guy.

Maybe not Rachel.  He saw how affected she looked during her audition.  Like she had found the words that had always been on the tip of her tongue.  Maybe his audition was a waste, but he didn’t regret recommending Rachel for the Asexual role.  She had gotten the part, and he couldn’t wait to congratulate her.  And to hear what she had to say about their future.

“Oof, watch it.”

Patrick roused himself and saw that he had run smack into David.  “Sorry, I was just-”

“I’ve been looking for you!  I made you a copy of all my notes, and can you meet with me at lunch?  I’ll be at the table closest to the auditorium.  See you then.”  And just as suddenly, he was gone.

Patrick glanced at the sheaf of papers David had thrust into his hand.  Script, cast list, staging diagrams, props list.  This was not nothing.

“David, I-” And he ran into Rachel.  “Rachel! Hi.”

“Hi, Patrick. Can you walk with me to class?  We need to talk.”

“Of course.  Um, congratulations!”

“Thanks!  You, too.  Stage manager.  That’s a big commitment.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he mused.

“So,” she began.  “I think maybe we should just stay friends.  I’ve got a lot on my plate, and well, you were at auditions.”

Patrick nodded.  “You saw yourself in the character?”

“Yeah.  I mean, we could still date, but we want different things, and I just think-”

“No, absolutely, I get it.  But to be honest, I’m not sure I still want the same things, either.”

She agreed automatically, but then her eyes widened.  “OH! Oh you mean-”

“I might be gay,” he confirmed quietly.

“OH.”  They continued in silence.  At length, she added, “Well then, we really could still date,” but without any zeal for the idea.  

He laughed.  “Yeah, I guess we could.”  Before they turned into their classroom, he took her hands in his.  “Thanks, Rachel.  Friends?”

“Friends.”  She smiled.

*******

A scant week of rehearsals later, David watched awestruck as his actors gave voice and life to his words.  His usual heightened state of anxiety was nowhere to be seen as he waited in the wings for his last scene.  His actors hit their marks, his tech crew moved like silent black ghosts, his stage manager spoke smoothly and authoritatively into the headset as he directed light and sound cues to the booth.  Best of all, the audience was responding appropriately to all the major beats.  In a flutter of joy, he expressed his thoughts aloud.  “This is really happening,” he enthused to no one in particular. 

Patrick was the only person near enough to hear, and he wasn’t really paying attention to David anyway.  Which meant David was doubly surprised when Patrick responded.  “Keep your head in the game.  Go get ’em, Tiger.”  And smacked David on the ass.

Patrick’s eyes widened in horror as David swiveled his head around to stare at him.  He almost missed his cue, except that the actor writing on the chalkboard squeaked the chalk, drawing their focus back to the stage.   “Huh,” David muttered, smirking as he swept in from stage left.

*******

He. smacked. DAVID… On the ass.

_ Abort, abort! _

His baseball brain had taken over.  Everyone swats each other on the butt in baseball, no big deal.  Patrick could not imagine that David would understand.  Very big deal.

He started plotting his exit.  There were still ten more minutes left in the play, and then curtain call.  David, as director and playwright, would have to say a few words at the end.  He could very easily slip out while David was swamped by well-wishers.  And then he just had to avoid the guy for the last week of school.  Or maybe he should just fake an illness and hope they’d still give him his diploma anyway?

However awkward he felt, he still had a job to do.  He finished calling the show and took his bow with the crew.   Behind the curtain, he supervised the techies as they put away the equipment and stored the props and costumes in the theater classroom.  The front of the stage still hummed with activity as Patrick snuck out the backstage door and escaped to the senior parking lot.

The evening breeze felt cool on his bare arms after the artificial warmth of the stage lights.  He exhaled the tension in his limbs, breathing in fresh, fragrant summer air.  In June, he would cross the stage with a diploma in his hand, and in September he would be a freshman all over again; how would it feel to be a real adult, with all of these high school days behind him?  

As he approached his car, he saw a figure leaning against the passenger door.  A monochrome figure striking a fastidiously practised casual posture. 

David tried to hide a smirk.  “Surprise, David, it’s Patrick.”  He groaned, realizing what he’d said.

Patrick chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets, dropping his chin to his chest.  “How did you get out here so fast?”

“What, me? I’ve been here for hours.  The real question is, where the hell have you been?”

Patrick rolled his eyes, amused.  “Look, I’m sorry about the … thing earlier.  It was a habit, it didn’t mean-”

“You mean you didn’t mean to smack my ass and call me ‘Tiger?’”  David’s attempt at a scowl broke into a huge grin.  He laid a hand on Patrick’s elbow and guided him closer.  More shyly, he continued, “You know, at auditions, I wasn’t sure if you were ingratiating yourself to me because you’re bossy or a suck-up.  But. I think maybe,” he maneuvered his body nearer still, “you just don’t know how to flirt.”

Patrick gaped, unsure how to respond.  David nodded, smirked, took Patrick’s face in his hands.  He kissed him softly, gently, the residual lipstick tacky against Patrick’s bare lips.  Under the faint oily smell of greasepaint, Patrick tasted cucumber and mint.  The novelty of strong hands and stubble sent a buzz of electricity through his core.  He surged closer, deepening the kiss, freeing his hands to wrap around the small of David’s back.  David’s right hand drifted to the back of his head, his left holding Patrick’s arm firmly against himself, as Patrick walked David backwards against the car door.  

“Oh, you are bossy,” David breathed, breaking the kiss.  

Patrick grinned.  “I’m a take-charge kind of guy.”

David seemed to short-circuit for a moment.  Then: “Listen, everyone is heading over to the diner.  Should we join them?  And then maybe we can sneak out early, maybe catch the late showing at the drive-in?”

“I’d like that.”  He reached past David and unlatched the passenger door.  

“Such chivalry!”

Before they pulled out of the parking lot, Patrick leaned over to steal one more kiss.  He smiled.  He could get used to this.    


End file.
